A World Full of Butterflies
by TwistedJabberjays
Summary: Like the butterflies soaring through the sky, our fanfics are doing just that. Here is the ultimate collection of our one-shot fanfics, ranging from humor to tragedy, CR-S01 to Victor, Trauma Center to Trauma Team. Please read, rate, and review!
1. Diagnosis: Gabriel Cunningham

**Author's Note: **A new comedy series of one-shots. Gabriel and the rest of the Trauma Team receive their own diagnoses. Gabe's not done yet. This series will be done in seven parts, one for each Trauma Team character, and then a summation.

~mf

* * *

Diagnosis: Gabriel Cunningham

"Oh come on, RONI, you can't do this to me!" pleaded Gabriel Cunningham as he was shoved bodily into the chair he usually reserved for his diagnosis patients.

_"Doctor Cunningham, I have to authority to request backup if you do not wish to cooperate_." Was it just him, or was RONI actually going to ignore him completely?

"RONI, I swear, I'll be on time for work every day from now on. Just…please, you can't!"

_"Doctor Cunningham, Chief Patel's orders override yours."_

"The- the _Chief_ told you to do this?"

_"Affirmative. She requested a thorough diagnosis of every doctor in the facility."_

"Then I say, 'to hell with that!'" Thinking he had won the argument, the diagnostician faced his computer with a smug look.

_"New symptoms observed: Aggression and Tobacco Addiction,"_ noted the computer. _"Shall we proceed with the diagnosis, doctor, or would you like me to prescribe tranquilizers for you before we begin?"_

Seeing there was no hope, Gabriel Cunningham relented. "Oh, fine. Let's make it quick."

_"Doctor, would you like for me to perform a psychological examination on you?"_

"A- what? I'm telling you, RONI, there's nothing wrong with me. The Chief's just paranoid. You should diagnose her!"

_"New symptom observed: Denial."_

"Really! If she thinks it's because of all the stuff that happened with Joshua and Lisa…" Gabe had to trail off there.

_"New symptom observed: Inability to maintain relationships."_

"…or if it's because of that spat with that old geezer…"

_"New symptom observed: Irascibility."_

Gabriel, in the midst of his rant, finally noticed what the computer was doing. "You're _recording_ what I'm saying?"

_"Doctor Cunningham, I have recorded a spike in your pulse rate. Are you sure you do not require the tranquilizers?"_ the computer pleasantly asked.

"And you're monitoring my heart rate too?"

_"Doctor, I am also monitoring your temperature, EKG readings, blood pressure, and 15 other factors that will help me complete the diagnosis."_

"Good God…" Gabe had begun to collapse and now lay splayed and unmoving in his chair.

_"Doctor, are you experiencing symptoms of vasovagal syncope?"_

No response.

_"Doctor, do you require medical assistance?"_

Still no response.

_"I am requesting medical attention. Please remain in your current posture and do not attempt to leave…" _Even RONI's huge database did not tell the computer how to deal with, as Gabe put it, "getting on my nerves." RONI had assumed that Gabriel was referring to a condition of the nervous system, not sudden unconsciousness.

Maria, the fastest doctor in Resurgam First Care, was the first at the scene. "Gabe? _Unconscious?_ You have got to be kidding me…"

* * *

**End Note:** This isn't the end of Gabe's story yet. *smirk*

~TwistedJabberjays


	2. Diagnosis: Maria Torres

**Author's Note:** Yup. And by the way, all these characters WILL BE BACK in the last chapter. No worries!

~mf

* * *

Diagnosis: Maria

"So…you're telling me that he passed out because the Chief ordered you to diagnose him? (And are you really that annoying?)"

"_There is actually a 90% chance that is the catalyst for this vasovagal response."_

"Basically, then, that's what happened. Hey, if you give him a heart attack, will they press charges against you or your technicians?" Maria was genuinely curious.

"_It is not within my capability to answer legally-oriented questions, Doctor. I am here solely for the purpose of diagnosing patients and providing assistance for the doctors of Resurgam First Care."_

Dr. Cunningham had been moved to a temporary room while Maria consulted with the Rapid Operation Networked Intelligence terminal. Nothing was really wrong with Gabe; it must have been the shock that his own computer was turning against him…

"_With the absence of Dr. Cunningham, shall we commence your diagnosis, Dr. Torres?"_

"What the hell are you talking about?" Maria exclaimed. "I understand why the Chief wanted to do a checkup on that moron, but I'm perfectly fine!"

"_Conditions identified: Superiority and inability to control anger."_

"Oh, great." Maria rolled her eyes. "Seriously?"

"_New symptom observed: Eye rolling."_

"Look, could you stop that? It's not a symptom. I don't have a problem. You're getting on my nerves now. I'm not Gabe. If I smash you into a million bits, that's Gabe's problem. So there's nothing holding me back from punching your screen now." Maria was seriously considering it.

"_Symptom observed: Wishful thinking."_

"Computer, I'm not going to cooperate with you. Go back to Gabe's room. He should be conscious by now. Alright?"

"_Doctor Torres, I have just checked on Dr. Cunningham's condition. He is still recovering."_

"Crap! Well…I know someone really does who have problems!"

"_Dr. Torres, please do not change the topic."_

Maria sighed for an abnormally long time, like a balloon deflating.

"Dr. Torres, that was a rather long sigh."

Seizing her chance, Maria realized there was something she could do about all this…

"No," she lamented, her voice saturated in anguish. "It's just…life is so _hard_ sometimes."

"_It is common for people with high-stress jobs to feel that way. Would you like me to calculate the actual percentage?"_

"No, it's the idiots I have to work with. They never listen to me." Maria buried her face in her hands and tried her best to ignore the rapid observations RONI was making. "Why? Why is life so _unfair?_"

"_Dr. Torres, if you seek psychological therapy, I have the resources to make a request."_

Maria found her mistake. "No, no, it's not like that!" Crap. RONI had her there. "I'm not depressed at all! I just want to have capable, _competent_ coworkers!"

"_Doctor, do not feel ashamed to admit your flaws. Sending request now."_

"No, really, please! I was just faking! I want to get back to work now!" Crap, crap, crap! If the Chief found out…Maria didn't want to imagine that. "Don't you need…patient consent?" Yes! Maria faced the computer with a smug smile.

"_Chief Esha Patel has already acknowledged her consent. Do you recall that your occupation terms included 'employee may be subjected to medical care if a serious illness is suspected'?"_

Maria considered her options. Sue Resurgam. Laugh. Punch RONI (which would probably hurt). Curse vilely. Plead. Sit with a blank look on her face.

"Sit with a blank look" won out.

But there was still one card left to play…

"Hey, RONI? Mind if I bring in someone else to examine?"

* * *

**End note:** Bwahaha...I feel so evil.

Guess who's coming next? *laughs maniacally*

~TwistedJabberjays


	3. Good Ideas and Bad Ideas

**Author's Note: **Good ideas and bad ideas, based on Good Idea/Bad Idea by the Death Eater's Lounge, which was inspired by the Animaniacs. Whew. So many disclaimers! I do not own Trauma Team, Trauma Center, ATLUS, or any of the Trauma characters. Remember that mf (the author of this particular fic) is extremely biased, hates Stylus, and thinks Naomi beats CR-S01 any given day.

If you like my ideas, as soon as I get my Wacom Tablet for my birthday, I'll make a deviantART version with illustrations. Can't wait to draw CR-S01 sitting in his fridge with a cigarette in his mouth while the whole room is filled with toxic smoke. (mockingjayfire)

**The Other Author's Note: **This is the other author talking. Since mf has been way too lazy, I'll be turning the Good Idea/Bad Idea things into FANFICS! They'll be short and probably won't be very funny, but... hey, I'll try. (fighterkirby1998)

~TwistedJabberjays

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Kill CR-S01.

BAD IDEA: Let his fangirls know you killed him.

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Give Gabe a pack of cigarettes for his birthday.

BAD IDEA: Give CR-S01 a pack of cigarettes for his birthday (he'll suffocate in his fridge)

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Make your voice heard over the Resurgam intercom.

BAD IDEA: Make your voice heard over Naomi's voodoo hotline.

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Spend a pleasant hour in a room with Tomoe.

BAD IDEA: Spend a not-so-pleasant hour in a room with the Raging Bomber.

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Mock CR-S01. (He won't retaliate.)

BAD IDEA: Mock Maria. (She'll kill you.)

* * *

GOOD IDEA: ...I cannot think of something that would counteract the bad idea.

BAD IDEA: An angry Chief Esha Patel.

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Receive pretty flowers.

BAD IDEA: Receive Rosalia-infected flowers.

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Become a Delphi researcher.

BAD IDEA: Become a member of Caduceus and have to sit around watching Stylus all day.

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Strike fear into the hearts of your enemies using Delphi's GUILT might.

BAD IDEA: Make all your pitiful enemies laugh when your GUILT turns out to be nonlethal.

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Sit in a car with Agent Navel driving.

BAD IDEA: Sit in a car with Maria Torres driving.

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Give CR-S01 a scalpel for his birthday.

BAD IDEA: Give an angry Maria Torres a scalpel for her birthday. (It counts as a murder weapon.)

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Interrupt Naomi when she's in a good mood.

BAD IDEA: Interrupt Naomi when she's being poetic. (She'll keeel you.)

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Give Naomi a bottle of luminol.

BAD IDEA: Give Chloe a bottle of luminol. *gulp*

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Be nice to Alyssa when Naomi is around.

BAD IDEA: Be mean to Alyssa when Naomi is around.

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Sweetly offer Maria some gauze in the middle of an emergency operation.

BAD IDEA: Sweetly offer Maria a CR/Maria fanfiction in the middle of an emergency operation.

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Naomi, Little Guy, and Alyssa live happily ever after.

BAD IDEA: Naomi, Sandra Lieberman, and Maria Torres get locked up in the same room.

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Give Alyssa a cute teddy bear.

BAD IDEA: Give Naomi a cute teddy bear. (She'll autopsy it.)

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Sit with Hank and talk about all of your life problems.

BAD IDEA: Sit with the Raging Bomber and talk about all of your life problems.

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Give Gabe a vacation. Let him be lazy.

BAD IDEA: Tell Victor you're going to force vacation on him. (He may infect you with something deadly.)

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Be smart-alecky around Derek Stiles. (He's too dumb to get it.)

BAD IDEA: Be smart-alecky around Victor Niguel.

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Interrupt Naomi in the middle of a forensic case. ("Dr. Kimishima...could I bother you for a moment?")

BAD IDEA: Interrupt Victor in the middle of his research. ("GET OUT!" "But...but..." "I SAID, GET OUT!")

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Have CR-S01 operate on you.

BAD IDEA: Have Derek Stiles operate on you.

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Barge into Dr. Cunningham's office.

BAD IDEA: Barge into Dr. Torres' 'office.'

_(Credit: BloodyRosalia)_

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Playing 'doctor' with Dr. Cunningham.

BAD IDEA: Playing 'doctor' with CR, Naomi, Maria, Hank, Tomoe, Markus, Valerie, Derek or 'laboratory' with Victor.

_(Credit: BloodyRosalia)_

* * *

GOOD IDEA: Raid the lounge.

BAD IDEA: Raid Tomoe's place with Hanzou nearby.

_(Credit: BloodyRosalia)_

* * *

Good idea: Shake hands with CR.

Bad idea: Shake hands with Gabe, Hank, or Maria.

_(Credit: BloodyRosalia)_

* * *

Good idea: Hug Tomoe or CR.

Bad idea: Hug Hank (who is a brick wall), hug Gabe (who will literally reject you and run off), or hug Maria (you wanna get punched?).

_(Credit: BloodyRosalia)_

* * *

Good idea: Bring a dead victim to no one.

Bad idea: Bring the deceased to Naomi (she'll trace that you're the culprit) or Maria (she'll kill you for killing her patient).

_(Credit: BloodyRosalia)_

* * *

Good idea: Go play with Joshua and Alyssa.

Bad idea: Go play with Victor.

_(Credit: BloodyRosalia)_

* * *

Good idea: Have the docs operate on you.

Bad idea: Have the docs operate on you and they get a game over.

_(Credit: BloodyRosalia)_

* * *

Good idea: Inspecting the deceased and his/her personal effects.

Bad idea: 'Inspecting' the characters. Especially Maria and Naomi. O.o

_(Credit: BloodyRosalia)_

* * *

Good idea: Play as Dr. Cunningham and give the patient a thorough 'physical examination.'

Bad idea: Point out Mr. Tillman has a big stomach.

_(Credit: BloodyRosalia)_

* * *

Good idea: Make sure your electrician is not a murderer.

Bad idea: Him checking out you heater in the middle of the summer?

_(Credit: BloodyRosalia)_

* * *

Good idea: Get lost in a mall with Claire.

Bad idea: Getting lost in an endocscopy.

_(Credit: BloodyRosalia)_

* * *

Good idea: Brag about Joshua's deep sulcus in his brain.

Bad idea: Say he's smarter than his dad.

_(Credit: BloodyRosalia)_

* * *

**End note:** Questions? Comments? Want to add your own idea? Send them in a review, I will credit you. As always, thank you for reading this fic!

~TwistedJabberjays


	4. Beginning

**Author's Note:** TwistedJabberjays is an account that is used by fk and mf to upload our stories, 'cause we just love leeching off each others' works. This story is by mockingjayfire.

Disclaimer: We are not ATLUS, we do not own Trauma Center or any other misleading connection to this story. Because if we did, Naomi would marry Little Guy and CR-S01 would be out of prison, etc. etc., and the whole game would suck.

_

* * *

Drifting. Flying. Floating. Featherweight wings, failing..._

_Falling._

_Breaking through the surface._..

Waking.

He lies on the corpse-littered floor, clad in a bloody lab coat. The scent of blood fills his nostrils and makes him feel nauseous. His cheek is pressed to the cold ground, muscles stiff, almost immobile. He tries to open his eyes, not knowing what he'll see, but knowing he has to face it.

With great effort, his eyelids open, letting him see the world Fate has thrown at him so cruelly. A world that he wishes he can't see now.

People, old and young, lie splayed grotesquely, their limbs reaching out and eyes open. Their mouths are agape with voiceless screams, a testament to their macabre deaths.

The lone figure among all the carnage slowly stands up, his fresh mind already hopelessly corrupted with these first memories. He tries to speak, but nothing comes out. Horrified, that he killed them, that all of these people with their bloodless faces raised up, dead eyes staring straight at him from beyond the grave, are departed because of him.

_Did I kill you?_ he wonders, as his knees threaten to give way. _Why would I kill you?_ His only reasonable explanation is that it's him. Why else would he still be alive, and not dead like the others? _...All of you..._

He's still standing there when voices begin to stream from a door behind him.

"The area's secure! We've dispersed the gas, come on! Move it!"

He makes no effort to hide. Just standing there, red eyes probing through the masses of the dead.

"Hey, look! There's a survivor! Over there!"

The young man turns around to meet the voice. People with gas masks strapped to their faces surround him, making his supposed guilt even more clear. "Don't move!" says one of them, a man with red hair and menacing black sunglasses. He motions for the rest of them to search for any others, and he goes over to the deeply horrified young man. "Agent Holden. What's your name?"

Holden's object of interrogation opens his mouth as if to speak, closes it, thinks. "I..." He pauses. "I can't remember."

_Amnesia_?wonders Holden. _What the hell...?_

"Alright, then. Do you know what you're doing here?"

"I- I think I'm a student."

"Then you should have your ID on you. Can I see?"

The FBI agent checks the young man for identification, but can't find one. He frowns. "I can't find any ID, but you're definitely a medical student..." Something shiny on the floor catches his attention. He bends down to grab it and holds it up to a flashlight. "A syringe? Do you know where this came from?"

The nameless one furrows his eyebrows. "I think I recognize it...sort of."

_So vague,_ thinks Holden testily. _How are we supposed to get any information out of him?_

"Do you know anything about what caused the attack?"

"Th- the attack? I..."

The rest of the team come back. "Agent Holden, we've found no other survivors," one of them reports. _This is bad news for you, kid. _Holden looks at the young student, closes his eyes, and tries to fuse it with that of an insane murderer who would actually do this.

"Are you sure?" asks Holden. He lowers his voice to a whisper. "The kid...he looks harmless." Besides the drops of blood splattered all over his sterile white coat.

"Yes, we're sure. We checked the whole area. We think the gas was dispersed over the ventilation system...we've begun identifying the victims."

Holden pauses. "Why is this important?"

"I don't know how to break the news to you, Agent. We've found the bodies of Sabina and Julia Holden."

Agent Holden inhales sharply, the scent of blood making his reality much clearer, like a double edged sword. For a few minutes, there's a fish-out-of-water sensation, then his reality slaps him in the face and drags him back. Like a sheet of paper being torn apart, the jagged pieces falling hopelessly to the ground.

"I don't know of any others, Agent. We only wished to inform you."

Holden takes in a deep breath. The confused amnesiac is still brooding over the dead bodies, still wearing that same blank, empty expression that seems to veer toward emotionlessness. Holden knows he can't be irrational. Somebody killed, or at least caused the death of these people in Cumberland College. _Not just Cumberland College,_ he thinks. _Sabina and Julia._ Weren't they the reason he felt he had to fight every single day? He wanted to _protect _them, keep them safe from harm. And in the end they died without him.

Holden knows he'll never forgive himself for that.

The entire time, the red-eyed man makes no attempt to run, or hide, or prove his innocence. He just absorbs the shock wordlessly, atypical of one accused of mass murder.

"Send this in for examination," he says thickly. He holds up the syringe. "Take him for examination, too. He's got amnesia and we don't know if he's innocent or not...our only job is to catch the killer,"

The only survivor of the Cumberland Incident is handcuffed and supported as the policemen take him away to a future as overcast as a sky filled with dark clouds.

* * *

**mf's note:** I don't usually write CR-S01, I was just so inspired by this scene. The sense of loss he must be feeling. But how can you lose something if you had nothing in the first place? I wanted to explore that feeling.

And I'm not usually so tragic. I'll post something really funny next time, promise!


	5. Hidden Love

Since fk has been weighed down with the pressure of doing 5000+ word chapters on The Complete Edition, she's just going to try doing something short and lighthearted for once. This is the story of Joshua Cunningham, before and after diagnosing. I'm still in the middle of Moving Heart (Gabe's Story, Chapter Three, the Shelly Brooks case) and Joshua's case is next, so unfortunately, I can't expand on the actual diagnosing. When I finish it, I'll extend this. For now, this is slightly AU and OC, but... yeah. Just read it.

* * *

"_Joshua!"_

Joshua Cunningham squeezes his eyes shut, trying to banish his father's voice from his mind. His father, who abandoned him. His father, whose face is unknown even to his own son. Gabriel Cunningham, the man who ditched his own family.

"_Joshua! Get ready for school!"_

There it is, that voice again, from years ago. A fleeting memory that has come to haunt Joshua's mind for four long years. But even though the young boy feels no love for his darkened father, he doesn't want to entirely let go of him, either.

Out of all the family pictures taken, Gabriel Cunningham is only in one of them, but his face is turned sideways, a hand holding a phone obscuring his eyes. The only feature recognizable is his green hair, tied back with a short rattail.

Joshua takes the picture out from his breast pocket, holding it tightly against his chest. That picture was taken on the only vacation his family has been on; and that was when he was three. Seven long years ago.

Since then, Joshua has only seen brief glimpses of his father's face.

"Joshua Cunningham!"

Thankfully, it isn't the demonic memory of Joshua's father speaking, but a real person instead. Joshua rises from the hospital's uncomfortable metallic chairs, and proceeds to the counter.

His mother had signed him up for an appointment with an expert diagnostician, against Joshua's protests. After that divorce, Lisa Cunningham just isn't the same anymore. Joshua is affected in the same way, because maybe… just maybe… there is still a spark somewhere down in the deep ridges of Joshua's heart that tells him that he still loves his father.

After the diagnosing, Joshua is in a deeper depression he has ever been in, because the diagnostician… has somehow wormed the truth out of him. However, the whole time, Joshua has noticed some things wrong with the doctor… he never gave his name.

Something that seems familiar… like a lighthouse's sways of light shining out of the dark blanket of fog, Joshua turns back to green-haired doctor and tries to get a closer look, because something is a spark of familiarity…

As if on cue, the doctor's phone rings, and he picks it up, holding it to his ear, spinning his profile sideways so that his phone hand gets turned to Joshua Cunningham.

Like a sudden flash of a camera, it all fits into place. Joshua's eyes widen as he reflects back onto the photo, the same man, the same phone, and the same hair…

Then, the sudden recognization fades away to nothingness; just a simple ripple disappearing into an icy winter pond, a transparent promise dwindling away, and the very memory Gabriel Cunningham disappears from his own son's mind.

"_Joshua!"_

That voice is back, and abruptly, Joshua cuts it off, running out of the door with tears brimming in his eyes. _He knew who I was. And he didn't say it._

_He doesn't love me._


	6. Please Don't Ring

ARG! Okay, fk here is gonna MURDER China. For those of you wondering why she's writing a horrible tragedy instead of The Complete Edition, YouTube. Just. Failed. The proxy broke down and... now she's stuck without YouTube, and no way to write the Complete Edition. So she'll catch up to the rest of her fanfics... *sighs* Here it is. The horrible tragedy.

**

* * *

Please Don't Ring**

When Alyssa Breslin first sees the teddy bear, she is so overwhelmed in its overwhelming cuteness and squishiness as all teddy bears are. She grabs it like any young girl would do when they see a cut and squishy teddy bear, and runs off before Naomi even has time to blink.

Alyssa runs for the hedge that separates her house from Naomi's house, with no imprint at all of stealing. She just wants to get this cute and squishy teddy bear home, when she suddenly hears a noise that a cute and squishy teddy bear shouldn't make.

In Alyssa's ears, a deafening sound thunders as a blazing white inferno licks her insides. She releases the teddy bear as it crumbles to an infinity number of pieces, crinkling to oblivion, as Alyssa herself flies backwards in space.

A searing pain sings softly, yet blazing hotness still smothers the feeling of well-being, as the world pitches into a deep blackness.

* * *

_No._

_No._

_NO!_

Naomi Kimishima clutches her phone tightly as it evaporates the familiar feelings of terror and fear. And all that terror and fear finds no other human bodies to burrow themselves into, so they find the only choice left: the forensics researcher herself.

_No…_

_It can't be…_

_It was only yesterday… or the day before… or only a few hours ago… when she was still alive… or at least, still healthy…_

_That bomb was meant for me._

And Naomi tightens her grip on her phone, as if trying to mute it out, if it sounds. Of course, it's hopeless. All phones that emit terror and fear and voodoo hotlines will not be muted. It's not like Naomi can flip open her phone, go to settings, and press "mute". She wishes that she could, though. If she did, she wouldn't have to face her ordeal like she is facing now.

_Why didn't I take the bomb? Why didn't I get injured instead of her? As I sit here now, her parents are already on their way to death…_

Naomi's phone begins to vibrate as a spectrum of purple and blue burst forth. She is much too familiar with this motion, for she has felt it… thousands of times… but this feels a thousand times worse.

_No! Don't… don't… please!_

The voices rise to a cacophony of wailing screams and screaming wails, the last voices of the dead. Slowly, the hideous shrieks wither down to a single, whispering voice. A voice that Naomi knows so well…

_Please don't! _Naomi trembles in her mind. _No! Please! Don't ring! Don't say it, Alyssa! Hang on!_

Suddenly, as if Naomi's words could penetrate through the passageway of life and death, the voices stop. The shrilling cries of the dead dwindle down to a low murmur and disappear completely. The room is suddenly quiet, but the cold, evil lurk still resides, rising goosebumps on Naomi's flesh.

"It's… over?"

The phone is silent as still, as if it was the one who had been cut off dead. But it doesn't matter. At that moment, nothing mattered to Naomi, except for the mute phone. Maybe she really had turned the phone on mute. Or maybe it was something else. Either way, the silenced phone only means one thing to the heart-stricken researcher clad in black.

_Alyssa Breslin is alive._

Breslin. The word is unfamiliar and alien as Naomi plays with it in her mouth. The tongue moves in strange ways, completely unwelcome.

_Not Breslin, _Naomi thinks. _The poor girl doesn't have a home… from now on… her name will be Alyssa Kimishima._


	7. The Song of Death

When I was young, I was in a fire.

Born from the ashes of flames that licked my insides as well as my outside self, was fear and terror, sorrow and hopelessness. When I got out of the densing smoke, coughing, all I wanted to do was to be free. To set my wings alight with a force hidden from me until now. I wanted to fly away from all of the burden, from my near-death experience, from the loss of my parents, from the claustrophobic feeling that the orphanage had always given me.

But I didn't.

I had foreseen things coming, things that would determine the future of mankind, and how history will play its events out. In my dreams, I saw a paradise, a world of shining water and bright blue skies, an utopia in which no one coughed to doubled over from sudden stomachaches. I saw a world in which no one had an illness, for it is gone, forever, like a vapor of mist blown away by the winter gales.

But I also saw fire.

Fire and smoke, columns of ashes shooting up into the air and dissolving in mushroom clouds. The sky, heavily polluted with this new mass of smoke being dumped onto its fragile shoulders, was overcast with dark grey skies and black clouds. On the surface, the smell of burning flesh was everywhere, the sickly aroma of bodies turning to dust as their very essence is carried away by the same currents.

I knew then that I would be part of a huge project that would be fateful to the entire human race, and, with one utmost decision, might either rebuild mankind's civilization, or collapse it completely. I knew, that if I left now, there would be no going back.

So I stayed.

I didn't die. As much as my body screamed for me to just let go of that one sliver of ribbon that connected me to Earth, I didn't release my fingertips. I never let my lifeline slip from my clutches, even as the paramedics did first aid, even when the AED was used twice. I never let go of hope, and that alone kept despair away.

But it couldn't last forever.

There, slipping away, I began to lose my vision on what's real or not. Which world is reality? My dreams, or the universe in which I am dying in right now? I'm not sure. I'm never sure. I'm about to fall into that endless pit in which hopelessness beckons, but then... I see something much better.

A flash of orange, though not a fierce, flaring orange like the fires that still fight among the water being pourerd onto them, but something more beautiful instead, and offers life. I catch the glimpse of a Monarch butterfly as it flutters past, and slowly, I begin to regain my body. First, I wriggle my toes, wobble my fingers, bob my head. My arms twitch, my legs dance nervously, and suddenly, I feel alive again.

Now, I am still young, but I can still reflect on those memories. My history before that unforgettable fire has long since been torn to rags and shreds by the angry flames that had consumed it, fueled by the terror of what will happen. I've always been a clairvoyant, been foreshadowing the future, but it isn't until now do I realize what truly will happen as my life flashes before my eyes.

But it's not my life I'm seeing.

I'm seeing other people at the peak of their age, crumbling to the unresistable force of for being alive too long, but other young souls are lost to the disasters that has come to strike the world. I can see fires eating away what's left of one's hope, floods rinsing away the remainder of people's spirits themselves, and see gunfire taking away the lives of thousands. And suddenly, my vision spirals to me again, lying in a field of golden Asclepias flowers as a gun is held in front of me.

My eyes, so big and pink, strongly disturbed at the sight in front of me, open. Suddenly, I am no longer seeing from third person, but first person instead, watching the narrow hole of the gun aimed at my heart.

Behind it is the towering figure of Albert Sartre, my beloved Daddy, who has come to this one last moment of insanity. My eyes widen more, but nothing, not even the beauty of the flowers around him, can distract my father from pressing the trigger that will end my life.

_It came from somewhere, beyond the farthest reaches of the world that we know, like a creature of shadow... _

Suddenly, my eyes glaze over, and Daddy becomes unfocused and blur, like the silhouette of a stray deer wandering around the fog. My eyes are seeing the future of the world: people dying, choking up blood from their veins, but somewhere in the midst of it all... I see beauty, a hint of something pretty in such a chaotic world. Maybe this Earth hasn't lost everything...

_It came to mock us, for we are so naive that we can't comprehend it, and truly, we are fragile and small... _

Yes, I remember those experiments that Daddy had done. Suddenly, it's all clear to me, as if it hadn't dawned on me before. The virus he was creating, that was the bridge between heaven and hell. I remember his very words... that the virus held a miraculous cure, but also a deadly poison. The two of us, we had been so naive, so weak, and fell into its hands so easily, it was laughable.

The song must've come to Daddy's ears now, because I can see his fingers trembling, heedless of his warnings to make them stay still. His eyes lose their intense concentration and seem to hold back slightly, listening to the soft words being breathed in his ears, whispering their enchanting secrets.

_I cannot hold onto the truth, as it slips right through my fingers like a picture that is made of smoke... _

Reality and dream. The two things that Daddy cannot differ from, he told me. He's gone crazy, mad, and insane, lose in his own world. His tantrums and moments of insanity... has come to haunt us all...

_I don't know how I will last, for my body is so weak that I may crumble away... _

He and I both. Our bodies are crumbling under the mere pressure of being alive, of knowing the truth despite not grasping reality, of holding the secret that will determine mankind's future. However, we can't let it slip unconsciously from our mouths... and we are suffering... from that... and the virus... Daddy has...

The song is now layered with pieces of music I can't distinguish nor recognize. However, I can hear piano and chimes, strings and woodwinds, the teeny beats of drums that sound quiet in my ears. I can hear the minute clangs of cymbols against sticks as the song spirals into a completely new tune.

_Uninstall, uninstall, I was told that I am just a single speck of dust, and cannot be more, for I do not understand or grasp the true meaning... _

Daddy and I, we are just tiny compared to the rest of the universe. Hearing the lyrics, now I truly wonder... the truth that we know... is it really the whole truth, or just a fraction? A percentile? A small bit of it, perhaps as small as we are to the rest of the world? Have we... failed that much?

_Uninstall, uninstall, I no longer have a choice but to pretend, I am brave, for a soldier has to be brave, uninstall..._

Bravery. Courage. Two alien words to me, for I have hardly faced them before, and had only fought them with cowardly woes of my own. Now, another piece of the puzzle is clear to me now, because I know, that in order for the virus to be erased from the world forever, is for me to die. I have to face death and embrace it as my new reality, and be a true soldier in this desperate, meaningless war.

_Our unseen thoughts have been growing ever sharper, unbeknownst to us, deep within the subconscious... _

I am clairvoyant, and I can see faint wisps of the future. But somewhere, in the back of my mind, the endless ocean of subconscious, lies the one fact I hadn't bothered to touch out of simple fear. If this virus turns out to be a poison, then I have - I must - die.

_But an inkling of what has been occuring is revealed to me as, I hear the restless monsters when I sleep... _

Monsters; devils and demons, beasts and horrors, straight out my mythology book. Three-headed dogs and snake-haired women, pale-eyed goddesses and monstrous figures, they have all come to haunt my dreams, threatening of consequences to follow if Daddy doesn't do this exactly right... and he didn't. Locked away in a cell of doom, those beasts will finally get their revenge now.

_Now my heart is empty and numb, save for an unrelenting impulse to destroy all things that I can see... _

My heart has been ripped of its joy: my brother, my father. My real father and mother. My relatives and friends. I remember that girl at the orphanage who had come to save me... that day when my home went up in ashes... I feel like the raging fire now, tempted to release a new wave of anger that will put this nightmare to an end.

But I can't.

_It is born from all of the pain, for I have lost the will to choose the day I'll crumble away... _

Pain. It has come to strike my heart every day from the minute Daddy told me the truth about my brother, and even more now, as I lie here, dying, feeling the evergrowing pain that blossoms in my leg. I'll truly crumble now, because I'll never escape death, since it's always had me encompassed in its clutches, and everyone else in that same circle, too. In the end, we're all the same, because we'll all face death. Blood and tears, shimmering in my eyes, they cloud my vision with their salty pains and sorrows...

_Uninstall, uninstall, if there's no one who can take this burden in my place, then there's no choice, but to take my simple life, and... _

No one, that's for sure, will ever remove this pressure from my shoulders. That is my duty, and no one else's, because I am the host of the virus that will one day come to doom Earth. I only have one choice left...

_Uninstall, uninstall, and it makes me want to end it all with my own hands, is it wrong? Surely it's alright to want to, uninstall... _

Is it wrong? The will to die, the will to let go, to release my fingers from the fragile strand of life that I have been clutching for eternity and beyond? Is it just plain wrong to want to die for my nation, my race, my world? For me, for my brother, for my father?

Yes, it is.

Suddenly, the music fades to a stop, but the wordless melodies still play, louder than ever, beating hard in my eardrums to the beat of my heart, pumping away its last few hops of breath. I can't hear Daddy's words now, because even though his lips are moving, and his throat is screeching, the soft tune that has once acted as a background has now become something much more: fierce and raging, always craving for more fear to fuel it. The song has become a battle cry now, blending what used to be beautiful notes into cries of defiance, radiating determination in every way. Percussion instruments turn into a triumphant rock theme, though it hints of dark evil in its beats. The music is deafening now, taking over me, flooding me with its impossible beliefs, giving me a hint at the specific future to come...

I see the Monarch butterflies, landing in the bloom of Asclepias flowers, feeding on its pollen. I see them migrating across America, see the golden, tainted wings, and it's not clear to me until I realize that a field of flowers had turned blue. Only years of studying science with Daddy can teach me why.

The music has faded now, though my blood still pulses through my body, and I can hear every pump of it. Daddy has heard the song's words. He thinks that I want to die. He doesn't know the truth. The song... is a lie. I hold up my frail hand, wanting to stop, but he has already fired once.

One gunshot, but the pain spreads like a ripple across a pond. However, my mouth of frozen, paralyzed in the mere shock of it all, that I cannot scream out in fright. In fact, after a few seconds, I can hear again, and the hum of the music is still there, only it's reverted back to its original form. A lovely piano melody... it cushions my imaginable fall and dulls the pain of my ruptured heart.

Logically, I shouldn't be alive. I should be dead, dead like my parents are, dead like my friends, like Daddy will be soon. Death, the fate everyone will have to endure. I should be facing it now, but I'm not. Somewhere far away, the music keeps me alive, holding back what's left of my ebbing strength. I croak out, wanting to warn Daddy about the future to come, but I only whisper one word in the face of his bloody gun: "Beginning..."

And the world slips away from my vision as it all goes black, but just before I lose my sight completely, I catch the beauty of one single Monarch butterfly hovering above the flowers, one of the last fleets to arrive before the poison takes them all.

Then the Monarch flies out of sight, and I leave the shell of body that was once Rosalia Rossellini, but now, is no more.

* * *

See? It made no sense. Yes, I'm addicted to music now.

Okay, this is the music I've imagined it... at the very beginning, and yes, I admit, it doesn't go very well with the song nor with each other, but those ones: Mournful Memories, What Kind Of A Father Am I/Crisis of Faith, Hopeless, and Despair. Then, it melts into Savato, Twisted Rosalia, and Vulnerability. Finally, the lovely ones, Rosalia's GUILT and A Brighter Day.

Well, that was fun writing... even if it's weird and makes no sense.

~fightakirby


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